


Coming Home

by McParrot



Series: Coming Home [1]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:06:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21802630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/McParrot/pseuds/McParrot
Summary: Ianto desperately wanted to lie down, his body needed him to lie down but he couldn’t.Post Countricide, Ianto's trip home was very very uncomfortable.
Relationships: Jack Harkness/Ianto Jones
Series: Coming Home [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1571119
Kudos: 75





	Coming Home

**Author's Note:**

> McParrot is uploading all of her fics onto AO3  
> These pieces have not been updated or re-edited  
> This piece originally posted to FF.net. August 17 2008

Ianto desperately wanted to lie down, his body needed him to lie down but he couldn’t. There was no room. Range Rovers, no matter what their advertising said, weren’t designed for three adults in the back seat, and when you added in the amount of extra gear crammed into this one, things got even worse. It also made the vehicle heavy on its springs so that every bump on the road transmitted through to the occupants. And when one of the occupants was already battered and bruised, every bump jostled and bounced his painful body. He was sitting behind Jack, slumped against Tosh. Sore and dizzy he needed to lie down. He felt terribly ill.

The ambulance staff had wanted to take him to hospital, keep him overnight, take xrays. He thought wistfully of crisp white sheets, lying down and being totally cared for. A small time out from his shitty shitty life. But no, Jack had vetoed that. The police had wanted to keep the SUV for evidence as well, but Jack had flashed that piece of paper he had that got him ABSOLUTELY anything he wanted and the vehicle had been returned to them, with all their gear from their camp site in it too. Once he had that, Jack was off, they were going home. He hadn’t even let them take up the offer of a shower at the local police station so they and their clothes and therefore the whole car still reeked of the charnel house.

That smell…. He swallowed hard and forced down the wave of sickness. Kept his eyes shut against the bright day light. If only he could lie down. The car bounced. Gwen’s moan from the other end of the seat matched his. She must be feeling pretty bad too. 

Damn Jack. He was so determined to get away from there. He’d cocked up big time of course and he couldn’t cope with that. Arrogant prick. He had cocked up so badly. The stealing of the SUV was so obviously a trap, they had all agreed and yet Jack had casually sent him and Tosh out to find it. They should not have split up. Jack was supposed to have all this experience so why had he done that? Why? He had really stuffed up. Ianto far preferred the idea of a Jack stuff up to the idea that Jack had sent him out as bait. Or the even worse one - that he’d deliberately sent him into harms way because he hated him. But surely he wouldn’t do that to Tosh?

Poor Tosh, he was leaning heavily against her, but he just didn’t have the energy to hold himself off. He’d tried leaning against the window but the vehicle vibration hurt too much. Every part of his body hurt, throbbed with bruises and possibly worse. Who would know, he hadn’t had xrays. Breathing was dreadful, he must have cracked ribs at least. Owen had given him and Gwen some painkillers but they sat in his stomach like small lead lumps and had done absolutely nothing for the pain. He felt bad - prickly cold sweat starting on his neck, hairs rising on the back of his head. ‘Ohh.’ Breathing hard. Not going to be able to do this much longer. Strangely faint. Sick. ‘Aargh…’

‘Stop the car,’ Tosh shouted. She must have unbuckled his seat belt because he didn’t. As they jerked to a halt he flung himself out the door, hand over his mouth, already heaving. He fell onto his hands and knees, horribly sick, vaguely aware of the rough roadside gravel. Throwing up hurt but it passed quite quickly. That left him with just the effort of painfully breathing. Now there was nothing to stop him lying down so he did, sinking onto the gravel, holding onto the world to try and stop it spinning. Like being drunk but with none of the fun.

He was aware of hands on him. Owen, shining his torch in his eyes. Please don’t. Heated voices. Owen and Jack, arguing.

‘You fucking moron Jack. The ambos didn’t try to send him to hospital just to piss you off you know.’ 

Go Owen.

‘What the fuck were you thinking? He’s got a concussion, been beaten to a pulp and scared to death. He should be tucked up in bed with an IV, a truck load of painkillers and a vomit bowl.’

That was exactly what he had been thinking.

‘I wanted to get you all out of there,’ Jack hissed through his teeth. ‘You’d been through enough. I wanted to get you all home. Safe.’

‘Well it’s not working. Is it Jack!’

Someone lifted him up, pulled him against them so that he wasn’t lying completely on the ground. To his surprise he realised it was Jack, pillowing him against his body. He gasped, not sure himself if it was from surprise or the pain of the movement. ‘Shhh,’ Jack soothed, tucking something around him. A sleeping bag.

‘You could do the IV though? Couldn’t you?’

‘Yeah, not sure if it would really help, but it wouldn’t hurt.’ A lorry roared past, the noise and gust of wind overwhelming his fragile senses. When he could make sense of things again he was being lifted awkwardly and Jack carried him around the car. He’d seen Jack pick up Owen easily, throwing him over his shoulder and carrying him from the basement to the Hub while at the same time managing to hold a gun to his own head. He must weigh a lot more that Owen, either that or Jack needed adrenaline to pull off the feat because he wasn’t doing very well in carrying him. Owen had to help.

They put him in the front seat. ‘If I push it right back,’ Owen was saying, Gwen won’t have any leg room.’

‘Then you can sit there,’ Jack said. The seat rocketed flat. ‘Yaagh!’ Then with a moan he accepted Jack’s gift, curled himself into it. It wasn’t quite lying flat but it was the next best thing.

‘Fine,’ Owen hissed. He was fiddling around, pulling his arm out of his sleeve, something tightened on his arm, then he felt a sharp prick and realised Owen had made good on the IV, was hanging the bag off the hand hold above the door. ‘Of course I can’t give him anything for the pain,’ he snarked over his head, ‘because you wouldn’t let me have any narcotics in the SUV. Wouldn’t want to make us a target for druggies and riff raff if they knew we carried that sort of stuff. Christ! Not like we don’t carry enough other stuff that wouldn’t get us into all sorts of shit if someone nicked it.’ The sleeping bag was tucked around him again. A hand rested gently on his head, not seeming to worry that his hair was caked in blood. ‘Ianto?’ Jack asked gently. ‘You with us?’

‘Oaanh aah,’ he murmured. The power of speech seemed to have deserted him.

‘That’s good.’ The hand stroked his cheek. ‘Not long now. Another hour, then we’ll be home and Owen can give you the good stuff.’ A plastic food container appeared beside his head. That was good. Throwing up again was a definite possibility. 

Doors slammed, he felt Owen’s knees push against the top of the seat by his head. The engine started and Jack swung them back into the traffic. He didn’t go to sleep, he was far too sore for that, but lay there dozing, letting Owen and Jack’s bickering wash over him. Owen was berating Jack for letting the group split up. It was spooky. When had he and Owen ever agreed on anything?

The women stayed quiet. Gwen must be feeling really unwell. Gwen was kind, bright and dogged and usually she’d be joining in. He was sure she had an opinion. If she wasn’t joining in she had to be really ill, or maybe just asleep. He hoped the latter was the case.

Tosh would be withdrawing into herself, wrapping her pain around her, hiding from her fear. She’d been badly frightened and that wasn’t something she would be comfortable with. She was a deep one was Tosh. He sensed a kindredness there to him, he was sure there was much more to her than any of them knew. She could hold deep secrets, who knew what she had hiding in her basement?

Owen, now, he was what you see was what you got. Bitter, hurt but coping. Enjoying the kinkiness of Torchwood, the mystique and mystery, the feeling of martyrdom and saving the world. A bit of a wanker, but no secrets. He was what he was.

Jack? Who the fuck was Jack? Captain Jack Harkness didn’t exist. Ianto had checked him out. Thoroughly. There had been an American airman of that name sixty years ago and Ianto suspected that that was the name Jack used and that there was some reason for it. Why else would he dress the way he did? What that reason was he had not been able to find out. He had run Jack’s prints through a full international data base and received no hits. That just meant he hadn’t committed a crime and didn’t work for any government. But he did work for the government, didn’t he? So all official records had been thoroughly wiped. Possibly? Of who the man really was, there was no clue. That faint American accent could disappear altogether at times, 

He wondered again just what “experience” Captain Harkness was supposed to have in planning operations like yesterday’s cock up. Fuck, he would probably never know. He grimaced as they slowed suddenly, sped up again as Jack passed a slower vehicle. His stomach churned. He had layer upon layer of hidden depths. Deep hurt, violence, and intense loyalty were all in there somewhere. There was something very aggressive, very dangerous hiding behind Jack’s affability. Ianto was actually very surprised that he hadn’t carried through on his threat to shoot him that dreadful night that Lisa died.

No, no, no, don’t think of Lisa. His breath hitched and tears flowed. He was so lonely. He missed her so much. But memories of Lisa all ended with spattered gore… Gore and guts and pieces of people back in that fucking awful village. And oh shit don’t think of that, don’t … smelling the blood and the shit, the gag in his mouth and the bag over his head and that sadistic bastard and his fucking baseball bat, hitting and hitting and hurting and…. ‘AARRGGH!’ 

Ianto lost it. Cried out, stomach heaved. Crying. Sick. So dislocated and frightened and sick.

‘Shhh. Shhh. It’s all right Ianto, it’s all right.’ Jack and Owen momentarily united, soothing and stroking.

He must have slept a little after that, waking to realise the vehicle had stopped, doors opened, people talking, then movement as people got back in and doors shut. Apparently they had just dropped Tosh off at her home. He was cramped and stiff, tried sitting up carefully but with the seat so low he couldn’t. Street lamps and the tops of power poles whipped past his field of view as they started moving again. Looking across he couldn’t see Jack’s head, the back of his seat was in the way. He could only see his left arm and leg, calmly working the gears, driving the car. Shifting his head slightly he saw Gwen sitting in the back seat where he’d been originally. She was leaning back against the window looking at him. She looked pale. They gave each other tentative smiles then he closed his eyes again.

He recognised the feel of the cobbled lane and anticipated exactly the moment when they dived into the underground carpark. They were back. Back at this shitty place where Lisa had lived the last weeks of her life and where she had died. Back in the place he couldn’t seem to escape. The place he knew that would one day take his life as it seemed to have taken his peace of mind. This strange, exciting, intoxicating place. FUCK!

The car stopped and Jack came around to help him out. He managed to get to his feet and with Jack supporting him, IV bag thrown over his shoulder and Owen supporting Gwen, the four of them made their way downstairs to the Hub. Jack was giving orders again. ‘Owen and Gwen go and shower and change, then Owen, take her home. Ianto can stay here. I’ll look after him.’ Ianto didn’t seem to have any say in that. And stay where exactly, on the sofa? ‘And no one is to come in tomorrow. Take a day off. I’ll call you if there’s an alert, otherwise, stay home.’ 

‘But Jack?’ Gwen started.

‘No arguments.’ Ianto shakily sat as Jack lowered him onto the sofa then looked around for something to hang the IV bag on. He felt he was observing all of this through a lens covered in vaseline. He leaned back into the musty upholstery.

‘Ianto needs a bed.’ Gwen insisted. 

I do, he thought.

‘He can have my bed.’ 

What?

Jack snagged a fork off the mess on Owen’s desk, bent it, hung it over the tap of the basin beside the sofa and hung the IV bag off that. It was only just higher than Ianto’s head, but it seemed to work.

‘You have a bed here?’ Owen was fossicking through his medicine cabinet. ‘I fucking knew it. You do live here.’ He turned suddenly aghast. ‘Oi, Harkness. You bastard. You’re not going to seduce him are you?’

‘No,’ Jack said shortly. ‘I am not.’

‘Thank Christ for that.’ Owen came back with two syringes. ‘Morphine,’ he said holding up one, ‘and stemetil,’ the other, ‘for nausea.’ He swabbed the IV port and pushed in the needle, ‘This will make you feel better.’

It did. It was like all the bones had suddenly been removed from his body. His head fell back and he took his first deep breath in hours. ‘Ohhh.’ More deep breaths, enjoying the feeling. The pain hadn’t disappeared altogether but it had become just a dull ache, his chest moved in and out. He could survive this.

‘Right,’ Owen said, ‘I’m going to check you over but first I’m going to shower.’ His attention shifted. ‘Gwen,’ he ordered, ‘come scrub my back.’

‘Go fuck yourself Owen.’

‘I’ll pay you with morphine.’

She gave him a filthy look. ‘Ok.’ She said surprising everyone. ‘But I want it now.’

‘Ah, all right.’ Caught out Owen tried to act like that was meant to happen all the time. ‘Only a half though, you don’t need a full dose.’ He drew up another syringe. ‘Um… Bend over?’

She took him by the hand, ‘Why don’t you wait till I undress?’

Christ this place was kinky. 

And speaking of… 

‘You need a shower too,’ said Captain Jack Harkness standing above him. ‘Don’t worry,’ he grinned, nodding towards where the other two were disappearing into the bathrooms. ‘We’ll give them some privacy. I have my own little apartment.’ He knelt in front of him and took his hand. ‘Please Ianto. Trust me.’ The soft inflection Jack put on his name nearly undid him. Eyes brimming he tried to focus as Jack pressed his case. ‘I am so sorry for what happened to you. Believe me.’ He looked at him beseechingly but Ianto didn’t know what to do. Jack seemed to take his silence as a good thing. ‘I know you haven’t got anyone to go home to and you need looking after. Let me do that for you?’ He helped him to his feet, arm strong and supportive around his waist, IV bag again thrown over his shoulder. Ianto just knew that resistance was futile. 

And besides, he’d said he wasn’t going to seduce him, hadn’t he?

And anyway, where else was he going to go?

Jack led him carefully and slowly up to his office. Sat him in his chair, and lifted up a piece of floor beside his desk. Ianto gaped, there was a manhole in the floor, he’d never ever noticed. How the hell…? He’d even stood on that, noticed the roundel engraved in the floor with no more than passing interest. It had never occurred to him that it was a hatch. Jack was smiling at him, enjoying his surprise. ‘Hidden in plain view,’ he laughed.

‘Yeah.’ Standing carefully he shuffled over, peered down, he could see the edge of a bed, very little else. ‘Ahhh…?’

‘Yeah, this might be the hard part.’ Jack helped him sit on the edge, dropped down the ladder and reached up for him. ‘Just slide down. I’ll catch you.’

What the hell? There didn’t seem to be anything else he could do. He eased forward, heels on the rungs and moved his feet down. He felt Jack’s hands on his calves, moved his feet lower, the hands moved up to his thighs, he reached the tipping point and dropped. Jack’s arms came tight around him and he fell into him, was caught and held. It was completely disorientating. Incredibly dizzy, nausea rocked through him. Jack’s body held him, firm and supportive. He managed to get a lid on the nausea.

Then Jack cursed. They’d managed to pull out the IV and there was blood pouring down his arm. Jack near carried him through to a tiny bathroom, wadded up a ball of toilet paper (so Jack Harkness does shit) and pressed it to the IV site. He kicked the lid of the toilet closed and sat Ianto on it. He sank down with relief, dropping his head between his knees. 

Jack was kneeling in front of him, one hand on his shoulder, the other still applying pressure on his wrist. He must have a lot of faith in Owen’s anti nausea medication because if he did hurl then Jack was going to wear it. ‘I don’t think I can do this,’ he finally told his boss. He thought longingly of a shower, of being clean, scrubbing off the stench of the “meat” and of his own fear, but he just couldn’t do it. ‘I can’t stand up long enough to take a shower.’

‘I wasn’t going to let you do it alone,’ Jack surprised him. He cautiously lifted his makeshift dressing, blotted slightly. ‘It’s stopped.’

‘What?’

‘Come on.’ Jack started to undress him. ‘The sooner you get washed the sooner you can lie down.’ Resistance again was futile. 

Once his upper garments were removed Jack stood up and turned the shower on. He undressed, Ianto felt he was consciously not flirting but he was proud of his body. He couldn’t help being a little bit of a poser. Ianto didn’t know whether to feel flattered or insulted. Crouching naked at Ianto’s feet Jack removed his shoes and socks. Ianto couldn’t help thinking of other possibilities and it was obvious that neither could Jack. He just couldn’t help himself. He stood. ‘Here,’ Jack favoured him with one of his dazzling grins. He held out a hand and helped him up as the other hand undid his jeans and pushed them down his legs in one seemingly well practised movement. He dropped a kiss on his surprised lips. The world lurched sideways. 

‘Easy. I’ve got you.’ Jack’s arms tightened around him. He gave a tender smile. ‘Don’t worry, nice thought, but no, not tonight. I only want to make you better.’ 

The shower was quick and cursory. It hurt. All the cuts stung as the water hit them and all his bruises cried in agony as Jack, incredibly gently washed the filth from his body. It hurt. It hurt a lot, but it was so good. He leant into the strong body holding him. The water ran brown as Jack rinsed the shampoo and blood and filth from his hair and he finally felt clean. 

Crying, snotty and helpless he let the other man dry him, dress him in boxers and tee shirt and tuck him into his own bed. So good to lie down. Ohh, yes. He’d wanted this for so long. He relaxed and sagged into the mattress, started when he realised there was another body climbing in with him. Stiffened as he felt the other man move up behind him, then relaxed as Jack simply stroked his shoulders, laid his hand on his head. ‘Shhh,’ Jack whispered. ‘It’s safe. You’re safe. Sleep now. ‘I’ll keep you safe.’ Too tired to protest he allowed Jack to pull him back against him, felt the warmth and solidity of his body wrap around him and realised that yes, he was safe. Captain Jack Harkness, whoever he was, was looking after him. At last, he slept.


End file.
